


Dignity Be Damned

by Alethia



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Anal Fingering, M/M, Nate POV, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, Porn Battle, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-29
Updated: 2009-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-15 22:08:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5802046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alethia/pseuds/Alethia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nate did these things; it never occurred to him not to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dignity Be Damned

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based on the fictionalized characters in the HBO miniseries, _Generation Kill_ , as written by Ed Burns and David Simon and as portrayed by Alexander Skarsgard, Stark Sands, and others. It is a work of fiction ergo it never happened.
> 
> Written for Porn Battle VII. Prompt was "claiming." Originally posted here and [here](http://alethialia.livejournal.com/347321.html#cutid2).

Against his better judgment, Nate had read the text message in the middle of class: _go home and finger yourself. think of me. don’t clean up tonight._

Like he could think of anyone but Brad as he shoved himself down onto his own three fingers and wished they belonged to someone else. Brad was the only one who'd demand he do so. Nate called up his image all too easily – he'd certainly done that often enough. It was a bit pathetic how quickly he came, spurting into his own hand when the fingers inside him didn't even have the right angle. 

Nate breathed, after, wondering what exactly Brad meant by 'don't clean up.' He eyed his come-covered hand, then he pulled sticky fingers out of his ass. Fuck it. He was washing his hands. Brad wouldn't know.

Probably wishful thinking, that. Brad knew when he was lying, even over the phone. Hell, Brad knew when he was _thinking_ about lying, before he'd said a word. Nate had mostly stopped trying to get one over on him after that one time. It just encouraged him.

He padded over to his bathroom, feeling the stretch in his ass, the remnants of the lube he'd used. Now _that_ he wouldn't clean up. The liquid warm feeling Brad always inspired didn't go away, especially when Nate had such a tangible reminder every time he moved, breathed.

The knock on the door a few hours later surprised him, but probably shouldn't have. Nate's cock jerked at the sound, like some kind of conditioned response.

Really pathetic. He'd be appalled at himself if he had any dignity left. 

"Did you do what I said?" Brad asked, sauntering in like it was his right, shutting the door with the back of his boot.

God, Nate was primed and ready, merely looking at him. Which was probably Brad's point. "Yes."

"Good."

Brad pushed him over to the tiny kitchen table, pressed him onto it, and kicked his legs apart. Brad's hand explored through Nate's cotton sleep pants while he nipped along the back of Nate's neck.

"Didn't know you'd gotten leave," Nate said as he pressed back into Brad's hand.

"Decided I needed a weekend off."

"It's Thursday."

"I needed a really long weekend. It's kinda big, that Atlantic. Takes a while to fly over it."

Brad kept his weight off Nate, maddeningly, a deliberate tease. He licked into Nate's ear and his fingers slipped under Nate's pants.

Nate shivered and rubbed himself against the hard wood of the table. A frisson of heat slithered through him.

Brad found his entrance and pressed a cool finger in deep, no hesitation, no preparation.

"God," Nate gasped, neck arching back.

"You did do what I said," Brad murmured. He crooked his finger down and Nate's vision blanked for a moment. "Even got some slick inside you. I'm impressed with your attention to detail. Was it good?"

He pulled his hand away and Nate made a kind of gulping, half-moan that he should really be ashamed of. He couldn't make himself, though, not when Brad was tugging Nate's pants off, not when Nate could hear the sound of him undoing his belt and zipper.

"Nate?" Brad prompted.

Nate made a curious sound. 

"I asked if it was good."

Two fingers pressed inside him, stretching more but not uncomfortable, not when Nate had taken three of his own fingers earlier.

"This is better," Nate said and pressed himself back.

Brad made a pleased hmming noise against his neck, fingered him a bit more, then pulled out again. Rustling made no sense to Nate, not until those fingers were back, three of them, slick.

This time he _did_ feel it; Brad had thicker fingers, after all.

Brad waited while he adjusted, pressed deeper, faster, in such tiny increments that Nate didn't know when he'd moved from adjusting to encouraging those fingers to fuck him harder. Brad pulled away again and soon his cock pressed in, no ceremony to be had.

Nate groaned and gripped the edges of the table. He shoved back, Brad moved forward, and it all clicked. Brad pressed his body against Nate's, fucked into him just perfectly and Nate lost it – keened and pleaded until Brad relented and stroked him off with that big hand of his.

Nate was glad of the table under him, even if it might never be the same again. It was a miracle they hadn't broken it.

"I really needed that," Nate mumbled. 

Brad laughed softly. "You always do."

***

Fin.


End file.
